Screwing with the Stars
by Reaching for Stars
Summary: AU. Rated T for eventual swearing. Eventual Yuffentine. When Yuffie Kisaragi international superstar starts receiving threats, she hires a taciturn bodyguard with an almost-perfect track record. Will he fail again? Is there love on the horizon? Maybe.


Screwing With the Stars

_All that glitters is gold  
Only shooting stars break the mold_

We all have our problems.  
For some, it's a tendency towards stealing, causing trouble, and generally acting like a spoilt annoying brat. For others, it's a severe need to lighten up and a cynical outlook on life that comes from a troubled past, not to mention a case of _pervertitis majorus_.  
And sometimes... our problems are each other.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"God, Monique, hurry up! I'm HUNGRY. "  
Somewhere in Beverly Hills, USA, a lithe asian eighteen-year-old lay in a cucumber mask, awaiting her breakfast. A fluffy towel was wrapped around her short black hair, and a similarly colored (greenish white) bathrobe was tied at the actress/singer's slim waist.  
Monique, a nervous twenty-year-old with mousy brown hair and glasses, hurried to her side. "Sorry, Miss Kisaragi. I had to go buy strawberries for the smoothie."  
Yuffie rolled her eyes, sitting up. "It's not like I change my breakfast every day or anything. You should make sure there are strawberries in the fridge before morning. I don't like waiting."  
"Yes, Miss."  
"Good. You can leave now."  
Monique departed from the teeny tyrant, breathing a profound sigh of relief. And then her eyes widened.  
"Oh, right..." She turned and tapped meekly on the door.  
"Yes?"  
"Miss, I forgot to say that the company found you a bodyguard. " Yuffie had been receiving odd threats lately, more and more frequently. Stuff like _I'm coming for you, I'm going to kill you, Bitches like you deserve to die, I can't wait to see you bleed, _and finally, _LOOK FOR ME OUTSIDE YOUR WINDOW, _all typed, printed, and delivered by mail from an unknown address. Her record company was starting to get concerned, and they had hired a bodyguard for her tour. "Oh, really? What company does he work for?"  
"He's independant. He's very rich, and he's very young. He also has a very good reputation."  
"What's his name?"  
"Vincent Valentine."  
"Cool. So, when do I meet him?"  
"Umm...well, in about...uh..."  
"Mon-iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii-que."  
"Thirty minutes."  
"SHIT! Monique! You could have told me! Get my clothes ready!"  
"Yes, miss, sorry!"

Vincent stood in front of the mirror, professionally putting on a tie. His calculating eyes swept over his reflection once, judging himself to be presentable in an almost detached manner.  
His dark hair was neat; tied back into a ponytail with a black elastic. His complexion was clear and smooth, and slightly pale, as if he spent too much time indoors.  
Underneath the slacks and dark red dress shirt, his body looked fit and well-proportioned- not too muscley or big, not too small or lean. He made it a point to go for a run and do a few (meaning over thirty) push-ups and sit-ups every day at precisely seven o'clock if possible, in addition to his usual workout. Vincent liked routine.

Right now, he was getting ready to meet with a young actress. He'd heard that she was somewhat unmanageable and hardheaded- not to mention troublesome- but he was convinced he some way or another, he could deal with her. Hopefully this job would be over soon- he was beginning to regret booking it. After all, one shouldn't be in contact with brattish primaddonas too long. It just isn't healthy.  
At least, that was his plan.

**Ding-dong.**

_Oh boy, _Monique thought, and rushed to open the door. "Mister Valentine? Please come in."  
"Thank you...Monique, is it? Her agent?"  
"More of a personal assistant most of the time, but yes, that too." Monique smiled. Vincent stepped inside, eyes scanning the tasteful decor. It looked expensive, but wasn't overly pretentious. Plus, there was no pink. Just a lot of green.  
"Monique, is he here yet? He better not be late on the first day. That would be irresponsable and idiotic and _man _that's a lot of long i-words, isn't it? Hey, Moni, you didn't answer me, is he here yet? Can you hear me? Moniiiiiiiii- Oh, hi!" Yuffie had just zipped down the stair railing, out of breath from all the rushing about. a starlet had to be presentable, after all.  
Presentable meaning make-up, good hair, and a skimpy-but-fashionable outfit.  
"Miss Kisaragi."  
"Yeaaaaaah what?"  
"Isn't it a little cold for that?"  
"Shush, Moni, it's fine. I'll be inside all day anyways until we go to the beach. Oh, and I forgot to say hi. What's your name, anyway?" Yuffie peered at Vincent, her nose scrunched up in concentration. "I'm pretty sure Monique told me, and it was one of those special names or whatever, like Leon Lionheart or Jack Jackson or Rick Randalls...no, wait, the first name was normal, last was special... Carl Strife? No, the first and last name began with the same letter and it was kind of mushy or something...don't tell me... Hmmm... Luke Love? No...Hank Heart? No...hum....Mark Makelove? No, that's not it... Sammy Sex? Ralph Relationship? No..."  
"Vincent Valentine."  
"OHHHHH! Vince, you shouldn't have told me! I would have guessed it eventually!"  
"..." Was it just him, or were pop stars REALLY that stupid?  
"So, what's your middle name? Ike? Ian?"  
"No. It's Orion, actually."  
"Oh. That's too bad..."  
Now he was just confused. "Why?"  
"Because I could have called you Viv if your middle name started with an I... Oh well. Anyways, I'm Yuffie Kisaragi, and if I die I'll fire your ass. "  
Vincent resisted the urge to laugh bitterly and nodded. "I'll do my best to protect you."  
"Great! Now, I hope you have like, shorts or something, 'cause we're going to the beach today."  
"Joy."  
"What was that?"  
"Nothing, Miss Kisaragi. Nothing you need to worry about."

"Man, Moni, we should go here every day." Yuffie whispered, sparkly-eyed with happiness.  
"I thought you said the sand was too itchy?" Moni asked, raising both eyebrows in surprise. Yuffie grinned, winking cheekily.  
"Yeah, but have you seen Vinnie in a swimsuit? Just _look_. I mean, I would sit through an entire speech on the economy of Siberia if I could see _that _during the presentation."  
Monique laughed, charmed by the little devil. She could be a brat sometimes (mostly in the mornings), yes, but Yuffie was rather good-natured as people go, and a happy little spirit. It was one of the reasons she worked for her- Yuffie had a unique attitude that you tended to miss when you were away.

Vincent, meanwhile, was not so lighthearted. He took his job seriously- actually, under one leg of his baggy swimsuit shorts he'd strapped a small gun. Vincent liked guns, and he was somewhat like Mad-Eye Moody in work ethic; CONSTANT VILIGANCE!  
Constant Viligance meaning _not _being unprepared...or distracted by a hot actress jumping around in a bikini. That was actually the only part Vincent really found hard in his job. See, he hid it well, but he was kind of a pervert. When he'd been growing up, he'd been fairly popular, thus getting more than his fair share of innuendo jokes _and _action.  
So with Yuffie running around half-naked after some guy who had stolen her towel yelling "GIVE IT TO ME" was kind of...distracting.  
And he couldn't fail again.  
His eyebrow twitched in annoyance, and he turned to the laughing pair of troublemakers. "Yuffie, could you be quieter? I need to concentrate." His eyes were flinty, and his face was serious.  
She rolled her eyes. "Gosh, it's a BEACH. No one's gonna shoot me or anything, okay? What got up your ass, anyways? Quit being so uptight."  
"I'm trying to protect you," Vincent reminded her. Yuffie frowned, sticking out her tongue.  
"Well... lighten up or I'll fire you! So there!"  
Vincent rolled his eyes, an action not unnoticed by Yuffie, who blew a raspberry at him.  
"Fiiiiiiii-_ne, _be that way!"  
"You can count on it," Vincent muttered, and the conversation ended there.


End file.
